Lacrosse
by RosemarieCraig
Summary: Greg House gets in a fight with another teenager on the lacrosse field. How will John House react? Abuse Warning
1. Chapter 1

The first punch was thrown by Tim Jones. It wasn't actually Greg's fault. He'd chucked the lacrosse ball right into the net, and Tim had missed catching it. He didn't like to loose. First opportunity, he whacked Greg in the mouth with his stick. The taller, younger boy had punched back, fighting against the pain of his jaw and mouth. Blood was trickling down both boy's faces by the time the ref stopped them. He pulled Greg off, holding him back tightly."What the hell?" Coach shouted, taking over the restraint of his team captain.  
"He hit me! Just cause he lost" Greg spat out a mouthful of blood.  
"Calm down! The ref'll sort it out"  
"Bloody moron! Could've broken something, jackass!" Greg yelled at the offending boy, who was sporting a bloody nose.  
"Oi!" called a horribly familiar voice. Greg stopped trying to continue the fight immediately. He'd forgotten his Dad was watching. "Stop it this instant"  
"Sorry Dad, I was just-"  
"Don't try making excuses with me, boy"  
"John, he was only-" the coach tried to defend him  
"I'm taking him home now, Pete. You'll have to keep playing without him. Not that that will be too hard"  
"Dad, I-"  
"Shut up. Come on, we're going home" John took his son by the upper arm, gripping much harder than necessary and dragged him across the field. The stands were quiet, watching their favourite player removed from their game. "See, they're all looking at you. They all know what a worthless piece of shit you really are" John said quietly, so only Greg could hear.  
"I'm sorry, Dad" Greg hung his head slightly, humiliated.  
"You will be tonight" a rush of cold dread spread through Greg's body. This was only the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

Blythe House jumped as her husband and son burst in through the front door.  
"John! I thought the game didn't finish for another half hour?" she said worriedly, taking in the vice like grip on Greg's shoulder, the way her son seemed to hang limply, his hair falling into his eyes. "Oh Greg" she sighed. He had disappointed her again.  
"Your son got into a fight with another player! Imbecile tried to punch him. Stupid boy"  
"John, I'm sure he was just-"  
"Go back to your sewing, dear. I'll be back in half an hour, and we can listen to that radio show you wanted to. Bye darling" John kissed her forehead, dragging his son behind him. Blythe sat down slowly.  
"It's for the best, honey. You shouldn't get into fights. Listen to your Dad, okay?" Greg nodded slightly, pushing his thoughts from his mind. She had no idea what she was sentencing him to. It wasn't her fault. John gripped harder into his shoulder and led him to the bathroom at a fast pace. The ice box in the large bathroom was filled with bags of ice chips. Greg automatically helped John empty bag after bag of ice into the bath, his brain entirely disengaged from what he was doing, his mind numb. Greg stood totally passive by the bath, his head hanging. He felt himself being lifted up, still fully clothed, and dropped a foot or so into the bath. The second he hit the ice, his body was on fire. The breath taking cold burned at his extremities, his lungs froze over, his brain stopped working. John grabbed his shoulders and pushed him under the water, submerging the teenager in the ice. Greg couldn't breathe. His eyes were screwed shut, his teeth grinding together, his body protesting violently to the deafening shifts of ice under the water. He writhed, trying desperately to get oxygen. It wasn't until he finally stopped struggling that his father wrenched his head out of the water and let him take a few gulps of pure, beautiful air. A few seconds later he was back under, a billion needles poking into his skin, a billion knives slashing at him. The exquisite agony was burned on his face. John let him back up, and Greg sat, shivering violently, his lips and fingers turning blue, his skin pale, his eyes vacant.  
"I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean it" his teeth knocked together on every letter.  
"Sorry isn't good enough. You embarrassed me. You humiliated yourself, they all saw what a weak loser you are. I was ashamed. Not that that makes much of a change"  
"I tried, Dad, I did"  
"Tries are worthless. Even good tries are worthless. Everything but perfect is worthless. You should know that by now" John grabbed his son's T-shirt from just below the water and yanked him up. He pulled the floppy boy out of the water, his clothes dripping, shivering all over, and dropped him unceremoniously on the bathroom floor. Not giving a few seconds for recovery, John gripped his shoulder again and pulled him to his feet. Greg felt limp, unable to protest against the eight sharp blows that hit his stomach and forced him to double up in agony, his nerve endings rubbed raw. John dragged him down the stairs and out of the back door. He picked up a rope tied around an old oak tree, tied his son's wrists together and secured him to the tree. Greg had three feet either side of himself to walk, should he be able to. He was tethered like a dog out in the yard. He hadn't been able to stop shivering, his wet, heavy, freezing clothes clinging tightly to his skin, his hair plastered to his face, dripping into his eyes. He felt ready to pass out. Every muscle protested, every nerve jarred, every old injury resurfaced with acute agony.  
"See you in the morning, Greg. For the next week, there'll be no need for you to sleep inside. In fact, there will be no need for you to be inside at all. Your Mom'll bring you scraps, like the dog you are. Report here at four-thirty every day so I can make sure you don't run" Greg hung his head, slipping down the tree so he lay curled up in a ball on the hard floor, shivering, his hands pulled tight above his head. The rope was attached to a metal ring a few feet above him. He felt his eyes close, felt himself succumb to the pain, to the humiliation. Greg House slept, tied to a tree in his sopping clothes, feeling as worthless as he looked. As worthless as his father wanted him to feel.


End file.
